Yarr, the Drunken Lady said
by fidelis5588
Summary: Really funny. Jeff Hardy convinces the Undertaker to go fishing with Shawn Micheals...and it dosen't end well. Not at all.


**_Title: Yarr, the Drunken Lady said._**

**_Rating: PG I suppose. All there is is cursing._**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own The Undertaker, Shawn Micheals, or Jeff Hardy. The stinking WWE got to them before I could. As much as I would like to have the 'Taker for my very own, I can't, and so am doomed to write fanfictions about him for the rest of my life to satisfy my pitifulness._**

**_Authors Note: This is just a complete bit of humor and fluff. It's short and sweet, and a little different than anything else I have done. I am very happy with it and hope you all enjoy it as well. It's actually sort of a sequel from my other humor ficlet with John Cena, except for it dosen't have anything to do with that story, lol. Both stories are connected in that they are in my 'Humor Series' but they're both stand-alones. This is the second in what I intend to be a long line of humor fics. And please, don't take anything in here seriously. It's just a bit of fun. Remember, read and review!_**

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**_Yarr, the Drunken Lady said._**

I knew it.

I knew I should never have listened to that crazy kid.

That crazy Heartbreak Kid, to be exact.

When he wanted to go out for a day on the lake, with his boat, I knew it wouldn't end well.

Wrestlers and water, specifically **this** wrestler, do not blend well together. We're like oil and vinegar. Cats and dogs. Kurt Angle and wigs.

It's just not pretty!

But, against my better judgment, I agreed to go with him. After all, I'm not supposed to be afraid of anything, right? I'm the big tough badass son of a bitch that calls the squared circle home, right?

Riiight.

**_----------------------------------------_**

"I'm telling you, the last time, well, actually…every timeI do _anything _with Shawn, things happen." I paused for effect, of course, and then shook one large finger in his face. "BAD things!"

"Mark, bad things happen to everyone. You're way overdue."

"Overdue, what-"

"Yes, overdue. Look at you! You're what, forty? And you get slammed around every night, jump off of cages, get thrown through bamboo contraptions…"

"I'm not seeing your point here, and I am not-"

"Yeah." He interrupted brazenly. "Like I was saying, if bad stuff happens to you, it's because you've been unduly lucky. You shouldn't be able to walk the top rope without falling and squashing your nuts every time you do it, but you can."

"That's because I did a little thing called practice…." I sighed, interrupting my interruptor.

"Yeah yeah, I don't wanna hear it. All the practice in the world don't give you the kind uncommon luck you got. Maybe it's just starting to finally come back around to bite you in the ass."

"That's all very reassuring and everything, but I think I'll still take a pass." I thought I was finishing the conversation. I even did all the obligatory actions, like starting to walk away.

"More like a piss." He didn't seem at all deterred.

I whipped around to face him. "Excuse me?" The little pip-squeak.

"You heard what I said, you big overgrown wuss. Take a piss on your pride." He loosened up his shoulders, like he was getting ready for a fight. But he seemed really excited about this new idea, and that's what scared me.

I stared at him blankly. "I'm still not getting your line of thinkin' here."

For some reason he looked at me like I was a complete dunce. What? Am I supposed to be perfectly attuned to the strange mind of Jeff Hardy? I swear, that boy has had one too many blows to the head, or something.

Maybe I hit him a little too hard in that ladder match a couple years back…

Nah. It's not my fault he's a whacko. He's always been like that.

But I'm getting off track here.

"A piss on your pride, man! By chickening out, you might as well just piss all over your pride."

I _told _you there was something wrong with that boy.

The skittle-tinted hair gives it away. I mean, really, how can you see that hair and not think there's something not quite right up there? Maybe it grows that color naturally. It's fruity, he's fruity….I'm sensing a connection here.

"Just go. It's a day at the lake. Nice. Quiet. No fans, no wrestling," He lowered his voice, and even lowered his eyelids a little so he looked halfway normal instead of the glaring, 'surprised' look that's always on his face because he has his eyebrows hiked up all the way to Timbuktu.

That lured me into a false state of trust.

False mind you. Very false.

"It'll be fine. Relaxing. You and Shawn'll have a great time."

I should never have listened to the Heartbreak Kid, or that other kid. That Jeff kid.

But I did. As usual, I fell into the trap of giving people more faith than they deserve. What can I say? It's a fault of mine.

"Wait, wait, I thought we were only fishing from the shore." Alright, so Hardy had talked me into it. I couldn't 'piss on my pride' as he so eloquently put it, now could I?

And I am **_not _**a chicken. I do not chicken out of fishing trips with my friends. I may be stupid for letting them badger me into things, but let it be known that Mark Calaway does not posses a single chicken-esque feature.

Except for when Shawn Michaels takes me on a fishing trip, where I am under the impression that my feet would be safely planted on solid ground at all times.

"Well, that was the original plan, but I changed my mind when I saw this baby." Shawn looked at me innocently, out from under the brim of his boonie hat. But he didn't manage to look very innocent, with the way he was chomping at his gum, with that cocky half smile plastered on his face. "I mean, look at her."

Again with the grinning as he came up to the speed boat, and gently brushed his hand over her super-shiny finish.

"She's flawless. And new. And best of all, really _really_ fast."

Oh, she was a really pretty boat. "Yeah, but we're _fishing_. Fishing involves, as I recall, floating in the same spot for long periods of time. Not skidding over the water and scaring all the fish away."

And here, that crazy man was trying to get me into his speed boat. And it was a pretty boat. She must have been hot off the assembly line. The perfect size, and not a speck on her finish anywhere. Perfect boat.

**_If_** you were a partially sane man. Shawn, unfortunately, isn't known for his immaculate driving record. And that's cars.

And it looked like I was going to be stuck, on my own, on a speedboat of all things, with Shawn.

Why couldn't it have just have been, an old john boat? I would have been fine with rowing the damn thing.

I think all the blood was draining from my face as Shawn hopped off the dock and over the side of the boat. He stood there with that stupid half grin and that annoying little hunter green sleeveless vest thing he insisted on wearing.

I sighed as I stepped over the side, the boat dipping just a tad as it accommodated for my weight. Oh lord, this was a bad idea already.

I dropped my tackle box and my poles, and sat down on the edge of the boat, as Shawn meandered over to the hull.

I took a moment to admire the boat.. I ran my thumb over her wood gently. Not a scuff on her. Shawn must have paid a pretty penny to rent her out. She was top of the line.

It was just a pity the Anne Marie would never live to see another day. I probably wouldn't either, from the looks of things.

I looked up, and Shawn was walking back over, done inspecting the front end of her. "What did I say Mark, what did I say?" He grinned proudly, hands on his hips.

"She's gorgeous Shawn." I agreed. "What's her name?"

"The Drunken Lady." He replied off-handedly.

Gulp. Drunken Lady, huh?

"Really, I don't know why you're so jumpy all the time. It's not like we're gonna crash or anything." He continued on, no noticing my sudden case of terror.

He just had to go and ruin a nice conversation. My stomach did little flip-flops as I smiled. "Naw. I'm just, uh...so, are we going out soon or what?" I quickly changed the subject. No doubt Shawn would be eager to haul anchor and set sail, and all that other boatly lingo stuff they say.

And he was. Very eager. Before I'd even had a chance to squeeze into one of the tiny boat chairs, and hold on for dear life, Shawn revved the motor to life and shot away from the dock and out towards the middle of the lake.

"Shawn, Shawn, there's a speed limit you know," I gasped, wobbling across the deck to my chair which I wasn't even able to get into to, seeing as how right at the moment I reached it, Shawn decided he didn't like the direction we were headed and banked a hard right.

The urge to scream, "Mommy!" had never been so strong in my life. In a second I was on my knees hugging the side of the chair as if my life depended on it.

Well, maybe it did. If I didn't hold on, I would fall out of the boat. And if I fell out of the boat, Shawn would more than likely clobber me with the boat when if he tried to save me. Then I'd sink to the bottom of the lake, and be dragged up later, dead. Or worse… I'd be retarded for the rest of my days. A retarded Undertaker. Now there's a comforting thought. I wouldn't even know who to kill for almost killing me.

I huddled closer to the chair. Yep. There was no way I was letting go of it any time soon.

Finally, the boat slowed enough that I thought maybe we were only a couple dozen knots over the limit.

I poked my head above the back of the chair. Shawn was standing at the wheel, facing away from me.

Alright, maybe my pride was still partially intact. He hadn't seen my pitiful clinging act.

Then he suddenly turned around, with that grin again.

"Oh, you finally done cowering?"

Nevermind. All pride has run for cover.

Can I have a price check on breathing?

Good news. It's on sale. All I have to do is sacrifice all the dignity I have, in three small monthly payments, and I can keep on sucking in that incredible oxygen I enjoy so much.

Peachy. Just peachy. If Jeff ever gets wind of this, he'd never leave me alone.

"Uh…yep." I chuckled nervously, using the back of the chair to stand up. "Ready to do to some fishing?"

"You betcha!"

It'd been almost half and hour. I wasn't dead yet.

Shawn's badluck-fairy must have been derailed from his mission of doom by that huge wake we left back there or something.

Wake? Who am I kidding? It was more like a wave.

Err…tidal wave.

Shawn likes to go fast. But that can't hold my fate back for long. Shawn and bad luck stick together like superglue and my forehead…

Oh, yeah, that's another story. Painful one, too.

Pain. Hmm. This story won't end well.

But this completely fake sense of calm won't stay for long. I know it.

Why? Because…'cause I'm the one telling the damn story here!

Geeze.

Then suddenly, Shawn just had to go and prove me right.

Told ya.

The peaceful little scene of the two of us fishing quietly was torn to shreds when he leapt to his feet, and scuttled over to the wheel once again.

"Shawn, this is a good spot," I called to him, but he just started to rev the engine.

Unfortunately, it was at the exact moment that I got a tug on my line. A real tug. Not an "oh I'm a wimpy little baby bass and I haven't decided if I want to throw my life away yet" Oh no. This was a "Boo! I'm a huge-ass bass and I'm comin' for your soul!"

Yeap. It was big. _Huge. _And what can I say? I'm a big guy, I like catching big fish. It's this whole big trend I've got started. Big feet, big winning streak at WrestleMania, big mistake going fishing with Shawn….

"Shawn, I swear ta God, if you move this boat and make me loose this fish, I'll pull all your hair out!" I warned him loudly, trying to divide my attention from keeping the fish on the line and keeping Shawn in one place.

The fish was pulling so hard and my pole was bending down so drastically that I was afraid it might snap.

I started reeling in, unfortunately, at the same time that Shawn started speeding away.

"I said stay put!" I'll yell if I want to. This fish was hooked good. Yelling won't scare it away. "Shawn, what the hell are you doing?"

"Sssnake!" He stuttered.

_Snake? What, a little garden snake? That isn't going to do anything. _

Then I actually decided to turn my brain on.

_…Wait a minute. We're on the water. Garden snakes aren't in the water. _

But Moccasins are. And cottonmouths.

I shot up into the air like a rocket. "WHERE?

And then, I sank back down to earth, or rather, the floor of the boat when I heard what Shawn said next.

He guffawed at me! _Guffawed! _He wasn't laughing. Nope. Laughing is what you do when somebody accidentally spills lemonade on their shorts.

Guffawing is that special sort of laugh reserved for only the highest acts of stupidity. Like shooting yourself in the foot. Or, even worse; falling for Shawn's corny snake trick!

Darn Shawn.

I couldn't summon the anger to even cuss at him as I watched my pole float away into the depths of the lake. The fish had taken advantage of my temporary insanity and shot off, tearing the pole out of my hands.

Now I was out one large fish, one pole, and one even larger portion of pride.

The rumbling of the engine as we moved off to a new spot on the lake didn't even drown out the sounds of Shawn's guffawing.

Three fish and two hours later, and I was still breathing.

But not breathing in the sense of calm, measured breaths.

I was under the impression that Shawn knew how to cast.

Apparently, one should never assume.

Whizzzz.

Plish.

Ouch.

Another cast, another hook in the forearm.

I was about to yank yet another curved, barbed torture device out of the pincushion that I once thought was my arm, when yet again, Shawn started stuttering shakily.

Shawn stuttered shakily? Hehe. Say that ten times fast. Shawn stut-

OUCH!

"Shawn, dammit, stop wavin' that thing around! It's connected ta my arm, don't ya know!" I hissed at him, trying to hold the line still.

"SNAKE!" He yelped.

Like I was gonna fall for that again. I'm big. Not slow.

"Shawn, I'm not falling for that again, now will you calm down?" I warbled at him, half-annoyed, half-preoccupied with the shooting pain in my arm.

"No Mark, I'm really serious, there's a snake!" He nervously said, and quick as a flash, jumped over the side of the boat.

I was more worried about him ripping the flesh of my arm then drowning in the lake.

Okay. So that's a lie, but that's just what I tell everyone so I don't look stupider than this whole incident already makes me look, okay?

But anyhow, I jumped up and covered the few steps from where I was to the edge of the boat in no time. Luckily for me he had just hit the water by the edge of the boat and I was able to grab him by the collar of that awful vest he was wearing and haul him back up.

I've never seen anyone look so much like a drowned rat in my life.

And yet somehow, he still kept that story going about the snake, even when I yanked him over the side and dropped him back in the boat.

Oh.

Ops.

He wasn't lying this time. There was a snake in the boat.

Coiled around my foot!

Jesus, thanks for telling me Shawn!

So basically I'm this six foot ten giant, hopping on one foot yelping, shaking the other leg wildly, because there's a snake wrapped around it, with a drowned rat on the floor and a fishing pole connected to my arm by a steel hook of doom.

But wait! There's more.

I was a little too busy trying not to get bitten by the venomous reptile taking up residence on my ankle to worry about the strange sounds coming from below deck.

Of course, those sounds soon became more danger than the snake.

Bang!

With a sound like a gun firing, out shot this little green thing. It only took me long enough to recognize it before I jumped away from him so powerfully that my reptilian friend went flying off into parts unknown, in some random corner of the boat.

I knew those horrible green overalls… That eccentric grimace.

I also knew I was going to kill Shawn. And then Finlay.

For the last time, I do NOT get along well with Leprechauns!

I thought he was going to jump on me, pull me below deck, or rip one of the boat chairs of their hinges and smash me over the head with it.

Nope.

He did me one better. He headed for the wheel.

I watched in a stunned stupor as he revved the engine, and jammed the throttle up as high as it would go.

Dang.

Shawn was right.

The Drunken Lady went _fast. _

The jolt of the boat suddenly coming alive in the water and shooting off at speeds that were far above legal for a lake of this size knocked me completely off my feet. Possibly my rocker, too.

I joined Shawn on the floor of the boat, where he was 'hiding' with his knees pulled up under him and his hands covering his eyes.

But there was no way I was staying down there. Uh-uh.

I struggled to my feet, my lunch already starting to get restless in my stomach.

Lurch. Stagger, lurch lurch.

After a combination of grotesque lurches, and even a stagger or two, I made it to the other side of the boat.

A few seconds ago we had been in the middle of the lake. But because of the maniacal driving skills of Finlay's Leprechaun, we were only a few feet from the shore.

Speaking of the little devil, he looked back at me and started cackling wildly. Okay, screaming. He screamed like a crazed Kung-Fu guy out of one of those cheesy movies.

_I'm outta here! _

With a squawk reminiscent of a dying chicken, I plunked out of the boat, and almost ran on top of the water in my haste to make it to the shore.

But I did.

Shawn was hanging on to the back of the boat, screaming something about a snake, and the Drunken Lady, was headed for what looked like a big rock, but I was on the shore, so it might have been…a big rock.

Yes. I said dying chicken. That's what it sounded like, okay?

Oh, and that hook must have been made of steel or something. And the line too.

I plucked it out of my arm, and bent over to pick up the pole that was, amazingly, _still _connected to it.

I looked around. My car was just up the hill, with my spare fishing tackle in it.. There was a nice tree to collapse under and a lake full of fish, oh yeah, **land. **

That fishing trip was weeks ago. The jagged gash on my arm has healed, and Shawn's even started talking again. I mean, after they fished him out of the water and netted Finlay's feral leprechaun, all the recovery Shawn needed was a few days in the asylum, -They were happy to have him back- and now he's right as rain again. All in all, dear diary, I think the trip wasn't a complete distaster. I mean, since-

Crap! I shut my diary, which no one is supposed to know about, because someone is banging down the hallway.

That, and this bathroom door dosen't lock.

Woosh.

And, of course, some people weren't taught the fine art of knocking.

Jeff Hardy's gotten a glimpse of me, in all my glory, sittin' on the toilet. Nice.

Of course now he'll shriek, utter some hurried apology, and scuttle off. After all, that is what any normal person would do in this situation.

Of course, seeing as how Jeff isn't normal, he isn't scuttling.

Wait for it….

Nope. No scuttling taking place here today.

"Taking a dump is weird!" He announces, one finger triumphantly thrust into the air, as he doesn't even seem to notice that I'm having a cow over here.

What the hell was this boy's problem? Does he have some metal issue I don't know about?

Alright, who misplaced my freaking memo!

I narrow my eyes. I'm getting something here.

Finlay doesn't recall letting his Leprechaun out of it's cage.

Jeff was a little _too_ excited about getting me on this fishing trip.

He is _so _dead.

_**Finis **_


End file.
